


Here at the Quiet Limit of the World

by PhoenixFalls



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Background Character Death, Bruce Feels, Gen, Immortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFalls/pseuds/PhoenixFalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce attends Nick Fury's wake.</p>
<p>Written for <a href="http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/16019.html?thread=35067283#t35067283">this prompt</a> on AvengerKink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here at the Quiet Limit of the World

Nick Fury was dead.

Confounding everyone’s expectations, Nick Fury had died in his sleep, in his bed of all places. Before the discovery of his body, most of S.H.I.E.L.D. would have bet that Fury never engaged in an activity as mundane as sleep, or if he did have to sleep he would do it in his office or hanging from the rafters in the cargo bay. But he did sleep, and he slept in perfectly normal quarters on the helicarrier, and on October 19, 2027 he died there.

Bruce had never quite managed to like Fury. He was too ruthless, too willing to sacrifice people in the face of his principles. But Bruce had reluctantly come to trust him for that same ruthlessness – as long as Bruce was aligned with his principles Fury made a formidable ally, and Fury’s principles were mostly sound.

Besides, Bruce could never dislike the man who asked Ross “Were you always this stupid, or did you take lessons?” in front of Congress.

So when he heard newly-promoted Director Hill was hosting a wake for Fury on the flight deck of the helicarrier the man had put such a stamp on, Bruce decided to attend. In addition to paying his respects, if he attended it would be the first time in years that all of the original Avengers would be in the same place. But as he was standing on the outskirts of the crowd, Bruce came face to face with a realization he had been avoiding for almost two decades.

They were old.

When Bruce first met Tony, the man had jet-black hair with just a hint of silver at the temples. Now that was reversed, most of his head a distinguished silver and only a couple streaks of black behind his ears. And though he was still a very handsome man, the laugh and pain lines around his eyes and mouth were deep, and he walked with the care that spoke of arthritis in his joints.

Clint didn't have arthritis but was walking with a cane now, his hip having never quite recovered from a four-story fall that Iron Man and Hulk had been just too slow to break. That fall had spelled the end of his career in the field, and when Bruce had shaken Clint's hand he felt more calluses from holding a pen than from holding a bow.

Natasha was still in the field, but her days of seducing marks for information were over thanks to a Doom bot that got a little too close and left a long scar across her right cheek. Even discounting the scar, however, she would have had a tougher time playing the innocent. Middle age had tightened her beautiful skin, drawing it taut over the hard muscle she used in battle and exposing the sternness of her jaw.

Even Steve, whose cells regenerated at quite literally superhuman rates, had lost the last traces of the boy he once was. Now he was a man in his prime, confident, forceful, and old enough looking that the generals he went toe-to-toe with were forced to defer.

When Bruce had looked in the mirror to tie his tie earlier in the evening, the face staring back at him was the same face that had been staring back at him since the accident. Too thin, forehead lined from stress and thought, skin rough from sun exposure. Salt and pepper hair. But the accident was twenty years ago now, and the lines weren’t any deeper, the skin wasn’t any rougher, and Bruce was fairly confident that if he asked JARVIS to count them, there would be exactly the same number of grey hairs as the first time he stepped into Stark Tower.

He needed some space. His skin felt too tight, and he could hear his own teeth grinding. He retreated to the edge of the deck, leaning on the barrier and looking out at the New York City skyline.

Some time later, Bruce felt a presence by his side. “You are not in the mood for company tonight, my friend?”

Thor, returned for this occasion from Asgard, was blessedly the same as always, large and golden and straightforward. Bruce shrugged.

“I just don’t think I’ll be good company for everyone else tonight.”

“Ah. I had not thought you and Director Fury were so close.”

Bruce grimaced. “I wasn’t. It’s not—I was thinking about my situation, actually.”

Thor straightened, always ready to come to an ally’s defense. “Has Director Hill indicated that your status is going to change under her administration?”

“No. No, nothing like that.” Bruce sighed, glad of the darkness around them. These conversations were always easier in the dark. “How can you do this?”

Thor waited, and when Bruce didn't continue he finally asked, “Do what?”

“Make friends—come to care for us, when you know you’ll outlive us by centuries.”

Thor was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “You humans have a tradition of keeping pets, do you not? Dogs, cats, animals that you take into your hearts, make boon companions of. Their life spans are but a fraction of yours, and when they pass you grieve – but after you have mourned them you open your hearts again, because that is the way of the world, and the joy that you feel with your pet is worth the pain of their loss. It is like that, for me, with all of you.”

Bruce turned that over for a few minutes, then chuckled bitterly. “Thor, the only pet I’ve ever had was a Russian Tortoise that someone gave me in college. It was barely more than a hatchling when I got it, and if someone rescued it from my apartment after I fled then it’s only now entering its middle age. It would have outlived me without—well, without what I became.”

A large hand grasped Bruce’s shoulder. “It is worth it, my friend. And when your home is too full of ghosts for you, remember that there are other worlds than this. You will always be welcome in the halls of Asgard.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a line from Alfred, Lord Tennyson's poem "Tithonus" which, though not exactly a parallel for Bruce's situation, seemed apt. If you don't know the myth of Tithonus, Wikipedia it; I first encountered it in Jacqueline Carey's Kushiel's Legacy series. It's wonderfully depressing.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, Bruce wasn't particularly close to the dog in _The Incredible Hulk._
> 
> And yes, I did have Fury use a line from "The Long Kiss Goodnight." :)


End file.
